


Scmifty Schmirst Dates

by waltermitty



Series: Steve and Bucky [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - 50 First Dates Fusion, Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Multi, consent consent consent!, lots of explicit sex, sexy times for buck and steeb, steves a hoe and we love him, yay for safe sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-10-18 10:26:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17579129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waltermitty/pseuds/waltermitty
Summary: Basically a crack! idea I had about museum guard Bucky falling for museum tour guide Steve, loosely based off the events in the movie 50 first dates.





	1. The Scam

**Author's Note:**

> just a lame excuse to write us yet another stupid bucky! steeb! meet cute crackfic. this fic has lots of sexual encounters, lots of polyamory, and many, many jokes about memory loss.  
> \--------

Chapter 1

The Scam

 

I've seen 50 first dates, and if I said I wasn't interested in a particular museum tour guide I'd sure as hell be lying. This started about 6 months ago. After getting out of the service, 8 years of being a long-range combat sniper for the marines had granted me with one true nugget of wisdom. The idea of sitting behind a desk made me nauseated, and the holy lord knows I wasn't gonna sit and serve a bunch of 13-year-olds weird coffee drinks while they popped their gum, rolled their eyes, and didn't say thank ya. So I applied for a job at the Brooklyn War Museum. I took the evening/overnight shift, and after a month they promoted me to head of security. I liked my job, the peace and quiet of the evening tours and the eventual pitch black silence of after-hours was comfortin. But alas, a problem arose. A very handsome problem.

Steven Rogers. Steve was a tour guide for the museum, and he took his job very seriously as he often bugged around to remind me. Steve had been givin tours for about a year by the time I arrived. The man had extensive knowledge of all the hidden nooks and crannies within the ole place, and he used it all to his advantage.I am still absolutely floored that this man hasn't been fired yet. Steve was attractive, and he knew it. Tall, with fairly long dirty blonde hair that curled slightly at the ends reaching around the base of his ears in a way that was both endearing, yet, as the kids say ‘panty dropping’. Adding that with a well-trimmed beard and bright blue eyes shining from the scruff, along with a perfect set of white teeth, his face alone could make a man believe in angels. Pair that with his voice, a deep rumbling vibrato that felt like honey drenching my bones, seeping into every possible vein, I was about ready to get on my knees and confess my sins. It was clear he worked out, broad shoulders tapered down into a slim but well-muscled waist. I knew it, the guests knew it, Steve knew it, even deaf n blind people could tell for fuck's sake. Steve had not only his good looks goin for him, but he had this golden retriever type personality, energetic, endearing, and oh so confident. He held himself with the air of someone who took great pride in themselves without seeming like an overconfident prick. Needless to say, I was in love. Unfortunately for me, Steve “Perfect Tits” Rogers did not seem to be the marrying type. Steve led a stunning menagerie of men and women alike on “private tours”, being given to a lucky man, woman, or on some occasions, both, after the museum closed. The whole thing always took about an hour, and about 15 minutes in the guests got a tour of gods perfect specimen if ya know what I mean. Despite his great body and overall perfect personality, I still had my dignity about me and wasn't about to throw my values out the window for one fun night. No sir. Not even for Steve “Sweet Ass” Rogers, as he had been described to Clint n Coulson my roommates and longtime friends.

An important piece of this story, Clint has been my best friend since grade school, the two of us inseparable since. When I met Clint he was sitting in the middle of the school compound, surrounded by at least 15 pigeons. He sat silently in the middle of the, for lack of better word, flock. It was the weirdest thing I had ever seen in my life. The first time I talked to him he hadn't been wearing his hearing aids and therefore didn't hear a word I said, just shook my hand n said if I wanted to hang out with him I could stay as long as I liked, but that, and he yelled this all mind you, on account of the no hearing aid issue- that the birds were staying. "They'd been here first” he bitched,“it's their world, and we’re just living in it.” After that we stuck side by side, Clint a blonde, 5 foot 5 at best, deaf, talkative, twink, and me, dark, brooding, and almost a foot taller than him. Shortly after high school finished up, I decided to enlist, and Clint tried to enlist as well, but unsurprisingly was turned away due to his hearing impairment. He’s a hell of a fighter though, the kid’s got so much passion and determination it rolls off of him in waves, and in fact, he became an EMT shortly after I graduated from basic training. Only a year into my 4-year contract, I was promoted to special forces, where I met Phil Coulson. Our units had been assigned to infiltrate and assassinate a terrorist cell. When we met, Coulson was a man who never said more than strictly necessary in conversation, coupled with his marine training and overall stony exterior, intimidated me beyond words. War makes the unlikeliest friends, and in order to pull off a successful raid and assassination, trust is absolutely vital. So I did what any freshly 20-year-old soldier would do, got shitfaced the night before our mission. After spending the night silently drinking next to one another at some local bar, the occasional impersonal question and answer being tossed back and forth between me and Coulson, a little miracle happened. As we finished the last shot and grabbed our coats to leave for the night, lose from the alcohol, another soldier I didn't recognize slammed into my shoulder on his way to the bar for another drink. He stank of whiskey and cigarette smoke, the smell burning the hair off of my face. As I ignored him and made moves to leave, he shoved me again. This time I responded in kind, landing a solid right hook to his pudgy jaw. And of course, his buddies immediately came to his aid. Adrenaline pumping, Coulson joined the scuffle and I made a life long pal. But things don't always have a happy ending, and on one of our routine raids, a mission our unit had carried out thousands of times, an RPG exploded in front of our humvee. It cost me my left arm, and what I thought maybe I could make a career of, leading to an early discharge and a forced retirement. After Coulson finished his tour, he too was ready to hang up his dress blues and settle into something a little less intense. And then, stuck at home, depressed, down an arm, and bored out of my mind, I made the biggest mistake of my life. I introduced him to Clint and within two days the two of em were mackin on each other every second they got and Phil moved in with Clint and I. Coulson, BC, or Before Clint, as I like to say, was a mild-mannered, polite man, who didn’t have much to say and if he did it sure as hell was important. After Clint, Phil has become louder, a lot more interested in pranks, and of course Clint's biggest fan. Having the two of them constantly in my space, nagging and doting on me like two mother hens sure did help the pain and I will never tell them that I am still alive because of their obnoxious love affair. The night Coulson moved in with us was the night I first watched 50 first dates. I hadn't yet started the museum gig, and I was happily taking a couple days to get back into civilian normalcy, as much as I could, while still living with another special ops veteran and a deaf archer with twitchy fingers and as he liked to say ‘a need for speed’ which meant that he'd perch himself on the fire escape and watch for any anomalies in the everyday routines of those he watched for any chance at saving an old lady from dropping her bagel or maybe getting a cat from a tree. Clint was somethin else.

But back to 50 first dates and how this all ties into museum hottie Steve. As mentioned before, Steve took advantage of the most powerful aphrodisiac of all time: history. Like clockwork, I'd be making my last rounds after escorting the last guest to the front and locking the doors securely when I'd hear the classic three raps at the back door. And like every night since I'd become a security guard, I'd walk to the back and open the door to find Steve, in some ridiculously tight button down with a funky tie of some sort around his neck, pressed slacks and blonde hair perfectly combed back. He'd give me a shit eating grin and say "Heya Buck, ya mind if I come on in? I've got another private tour to give tonight. Shouldn't take but an hour." and then lean against the door and trap me in the doorway with his hulking frame. And every night, without fail, I'd just shove down the urge to lick every single one of his fingers, act like I didn't know him, and respond with "Yes sir, come on in. First I need to see some ID, and what was your name? I can't quite recall ya, bad with faces you see." Oh, n the name is James. Only my friends call me Bucky" and cue my outstretched hand for a handshake. And like every other night, he'd turn pink, a hot flush stemming from his chest and screaming up his neck into his cheeks and Steven Rogers would fumble around for a good minute to find his ID. And just like every other night I'd sigh and tap my foot and fiddle with my uniform while I waited and act like I hadn't been thinking about his massive hands that tapered into impossibly slender wrists and what they'd look like in my handcuffs. Like clockwork, he finally gets his ID out and hands it to me. I feign surprise, sucking in a breath so I don't choke looking at his somehow immaculate ID photo, "Steven G Rogers, what's the G stand for huh? Grant. Steven Grant Rogers. "Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle! C'mon in dammit! You're letting the air out." And he would scramble through the doorframe and tuck his hands into his pockets while I pretended to examine his ID. "So uh. James, he stutters out, face red, "may I ask why you don't seem to know me? I've been here afternoons every damn day for the past 3 months since you've been here and I say hello every time I see you. And I've seen you wave back." I look up, with fake shock and surprise written across my face. "Well, Jesus, I am so sorry. I have a well, medical condition, ya see, a car accident on my way home from picking a pineapple with my dad we hit a tree there was a cow but the point is I forget everything except for my long term memories, y'know". He frowns, and his forehead wrinkles as he pulls his hand to his mouth. "Well hey man, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to offend you, and that story seems awful tragic. I'll see ya later James." He gives me a smirk, grabs his ID and plucks a flashlight from where it's perched, (the one i left there for him, he always grabs mine) on a cardboard box. He wiggles it at me and I wave him away, giving it to him. He saunters off into the darkened corridor, and I hear a door shut, and footsteps fade into the recess of the museum.

I lock the back door and head to the security office. The office is a well furnished little place, with low-light fluorescents and 6 monitors revealing access to the museum floor. I can see Steve on camera 1, parading some dark-haired man around the front desk and brochure section located right next to the door. I snicker, clear some papers off of the long desk in front of me, prop my booted feet on the table, grab my coffee, lean back and get comfortable. Watching Steve and whatever flavor of the month he brings to the late night tours are my only source of entertainment these days, and entertain they do. It’s the usual routine, he takes them on the exact same tour they paid 20 bucks for hours earlier, but this tour is different. Steve gets handsy with everyone at about the same point, the Cold War exhibit. Of course, the tour goes in chronological order of the important wars of history, and one cannot be expected to enjoy themselves too much during the Civil War exhibit. Therefore the Cold War has become pound town; population 2. This is usually where it becomes noteworthy. It starts out innocent as always, a light shoulder pat, a whisper in the ear, and then boom, he's holding their hand, guiding them through the American Revolution exhibit, explaining the texts from the founding fathers, and from my limited hearing during the daytime tours, he’s spouting lines from Hamilton and going on about how Lin Manuel Miranda just _“perfectly encapsulated the exact spirit of Alexander Hamilton“_ and “ _how we could all learn a lot from reading his manuscripts.”_ At this point in the night, he realizes that his guest wasn't expecting this kind of tour- and therefore his tactic changes ever so subtly. A good ten minutes later and they’re strolling through the world war I exhibit, Steve's got his arm wrapped tightly around the darker haired man and the man is laughing, nay, dare I say, giggling, at something Steve said. Apparently, the museum couldn't afford the cost of installing audio security as well as video, so it's like watching a very silent film, with a lot of groping. Speaking of groping, and back to the “tour” Steve now has taken his guest to the Cold War visual aid boards, with the nice pictures and text to gawk at, and just like every other night, this is where he leans in for the first kiss of the evening. Dependent on whomever he's charming the pants off of, the kiss varies. This one is gentle, yet firm, and I lean forward to get a better look at the pair. Steve leads, he always does. The man could, and would, top The Rock if he had the chance. The darker haired man is short, and he's craning his neck up while Steve leans down, but he seems to be a bit pushy, and within mere moments of being kissed, he's got his hands in Steve's hair and is pulling him towards the nearest hard surface. They dance beyond the view of the cameras, and I decide it's time to do some actual work. I'll come back and check the tapes in 30 minutes. I grab my roll of keys, industrial flashlight, and the cup of coffee I snagged from the bodega a block over, and begin my nightly rounds, mentally reminding myself to stay clear of the Cold War.


	2. The Scammed Becomes The Scammer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has a fun museum date! a mystery man? or am I just a hoe for stony! also we get a fun new gal character joining our little escapades! steve finds out secrets, is gay, and bucky almost loses his chunks several times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello friends! sorry, it took 4 years for me to upload this but here it is. there is explicit sex in this chapter! it is fun and funky and super duper relatable! chock full of awkward pauses and lots of consent. enjoy! the fruits of my labor!

I'd never seen 50 First Dates, but I knew there had to be a movie he was basing this bullshit ‘pineapple car accident’ off of. “There's no freaking way he got in an accident that specific and can remember it detail for detail like that. Are you even listening to me? Oh for fuck's sake man.” Sam, my best friend, wingman, and resident moron was staring at Peter Quill, who had bent himself unnecessarily over the corner pool table, wiggling his ass while he lined up his shot. He was very obviously trying to gain Sam’s attention if the looks he kept throwing over his shoulder were anything to go off of. “SAM!” My yelling directly into his ear seemed to yank Sam out of his Quill induced trance, and as he turned around very slowly, I saw murder in his eyes. “Did you really find it necessary to scream in my ear man? There's like four other people in this place right now, the music is low, you could've tapped me on the shoulder or sumthin.” I swallow a laugh as Natasha makes her way back down the length of the bar, drinks in hand. “Here's a napkin baby, you've got drool running down your chin.” Sam scowls, and angrily swipes the back of one hand across his mouth, as Nat grins and pats his cheek, setting our drinks down. She props her elbows on the bar top, sets her chin in her palms, and waits for one of us to say something. “Sam wasn’t listening to me bitch about work cuz he was too busy eye-fucking Quill” I complain, dropping my head on my arm, and do my best to look pitiful. Sam rolls his eyes and tosses his drink back, a blush creeping up his neck. Nat just laughs and takes a glance over to where Gamora, Quill’s girlfriend is carefully chalking up her pool cue while maintaining heavy eye contact with Natasha. Nat just waves and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, turning back to us with a small smile. “Sam, honey, can you just go talk to him, please. Mora’ and I think it's about time, she said he can't stop talking about you anyways.” Sam manages to turn even redder and thumps his head onto the wood bar top, hard. “Seriously man, listen to Tasha. You've been pining after each other since you met.” I sneak a look over my beer bottle at Gamora and Peter, who is bright red, a result of whatever filth his counterpart seems to be whispering into his ear. Sam sneaks a look in their direction from where he's hiding underneath his arm, and his ears turn a dark red as he clears his throat, straightens his tie, gives Nat a quick kiss and shakily slides off the stool to very slowly teeter towards them. Nat, Sam and I met during our respective tours in Iraq. Sam did three tours as pararescue, Natasha did two tours as a counterintelligence operative and I myself served two tours as tank maintenance and driver.

 

We served together on countless missions, and after getting out, Sam and I began to rent a place together in downtown Queens. Natasha followed us there after a couple of months, cramming herself into our already cheap, very small tenement. Sam got a job at the VA a couple of weeks after getting settled, leading weekly group therapy sessions for combat vets with PTSD. Nat opted for bartending at a rundown little joint about four blocks from where we lived, and within months she’d made some sort of bet with the owner, who lost, thus Natasha became the owner of what she proudly named “Poison”. I myself went for the sweet embrace of civilian normalcy, putting my history major to good use at the Brooklyn War Museum. After being at the museum for almost a year, we finally hired a nighttime security guide, which did two things. The first thing that it did was make it much more difficult for me to shamelessly use the museum to get laid, and the second thing was that it turned out to be a very attractive man who seemed to want nothing to do with me.

 

His name was Bucky, but as he so pointedly told me the night before “Bucky is for friends and family. Seeing as I couldn't pick ya from a crowd, call me James.” I roll my eyes at the very memory, the faint sounds of giggling pulling me from my reverie. I glance over to the pool tables, where Sam is now pressed tightly behind Quill, helping him line up his shot. Quill has faded from bright red to a delightful shade of pink, grinning sheepishly at his girlfriend who’s curled possessively around Nats side. Gamora and Nat both smile at me, Gamora throwing a sloppy salute my way. I throw some crumpled tens on the bar top and holler my goodbyes, not expecting a response from any of them. It's only 7:30 so I have a good hour until I’m supposed to meet Tony back at the museum for his tour. I met Tony on yesterday's morning tour. He teaches physics and robotics over at NYU and was wandering around the Civil War exhibit on his lunch. He had on an expensive green peacoat, matching brown and green scarf, and a simple red blazer on underneath. He was short in height, only coming up to my armpit, but his kind eyes and well-groomed beard sealed the deal. He was witty and charming, and if I wasn’t head over heels for Barnes I might’ve asked him to coffee. Instead, I offered the private tour, and he immediately got the general idea of the invitation. I stop by the apartment and change from my museum uniform into a pale blue button down with a matching tie with clouds on it. I keep the black slacks and black shoes, going for the ole’ semi-formal look.

 

I make it to the museum in record time, giving the classic three raps at the back door, stamping my feet to keep the blood flowing. The door swings open, the glow from various screens bathing the man before me in soft blue light. Attractive doesn't even begin to explain Bucky, a tall, lean, but well muscled dark-haired, blue-eyed angel. His shoulder length hair falls in waves, framing a cut jawline that's always covered by a little bit of stubble, which highlights his full, cupid's bow lips. I regain my composure enough to stammer a “Heya, Buck I'm uh, here for a private tour” I trail off, hoping my nervous smile comes off as endearing rather than creepy. “Sure, come on in. First I need to see some ID, and what was your name? I don't know ya, bad with faces you see.” “Oh, n it's James.” He speaks in this deep, gravelly vibrato that makes me want to rip his clothes off and fuck him over that stupid computer board until the only name he knows is mine. I swallow this thought entirely and shuffle into the office, doing my best not rub up against him as I squeeze between his large frame and the doorway. He watches me carefully as I fumble around for my ID, finally yanking it out of my fading leather wallet, almost dislodging my yogurtland gift cards. A hint of a smile flickers across his face as he watches me, fading as I hand him my ID. I'm careful to make sure our fingers don't touch, seeing as he “doesn't know me” and apparently he suffers from short term memory loss. He gives my ID a slow once over, eyes scanning the plastic card like it's the Bible. finally, after what feels like forever, he hands it back to me “Here ya go, Steven Grant Rogers.” “Alright well, uh, see ya later James.” I can't help but throw a wink his way as I saunter, yes saunter, out the door into the main building, plucking a flashlight off of the cardboard box on my way out.

 

I make sure my hair is combed back nicely, my beard all tucked in and well groomed. I get to the entrance to find Tony already waiting right outside the doors, tapping away on his phone, seemingly lost in thought. “Hey! Glad to see ya could make it” “Oh likewise, work was a mess today, and I've been very much looking forward to this tour.” Tony grins up at me, wearing the same green peacoat as yesterday, this time with a black button-down tucked into plaid pants. “You look really nice,” I remark, closing the door behind him and locking it. “oh look who's talking mr., _my buttons are about to pop off my ridiculously tight shirt”_ I blush, as Tony very obviously looks me up and down, brushing his hand over my bicep appreciatively. “So, uh, let's get this tour started huh? Wouldn't wanna keep ya waiting” I throw him a wink, helping him shrug off his coat, placing it over the now empty visitor's information desk. “What a gentleman you are Rogers” he smirks back, wrapping a warm hand around my waist as we make off into the dark museum. We make it through World War exhibits, making small talk over the weather, work, and Tony's girlfriend Pepper. He explains to me that they're both polyamorous, preferring to have these sorts of adventures together but since she's out of town I can “have him all to myself”. He's an excellent conversationalist, telling me all sorts of stories about his labs and robots and students. We finally make it to the Cold War exhibit, which is where I usually try to make things happen on these tours.

 

As if on cue, Tony turns away from the current visual he's been staring at to very huskily ask “Sooo are you planning on kissing me tonight or are we just gonna mosey around this museum for another hour?” “I'll do more than kiss ya, Tony, ya just gotta ask me nicely” I reply with a smirk, already leaning down to kiss him. He pushes up onto his tiptoes, warm lips meeting me halfway. I can feel his mustache tickle my upper lip as I deepen the kiss, slanting my head ever so slightly, wrapping a hand around his waist and pulling him close. we part for breath, pulling away ever so slightly. “Why don't we take this to a slightly more private setting huh? “ I manage to pant out, glancing towards the cameras. Tony quirks a perfect eyebrow, looks around and then begins walking me backward into the shadows. I capture his lips in another kiss, happily being pressed up against the nearest hard surface. It turns out to be a viewing bench set along the perimeter of the Harry Truman panorama, the bench sitting just underneath a security camera, close enough to the wall to be in the cameras blindspot. A pang of disappointment shoots through my chest when I realize we’re out of Bucky’s sight now, as I was very selfishly hoping he might get annoyed and come out and stop the proceedings, giving me a chance to talk to him again.

 

That happened once before, I was on a tour with a regular of mine, a gal named Peggy. Unbelievably witty, with dark curls always pinned perfectly back, a shade of bright red lipstick painting her full lips, Peggy was a stunner and she knew it. Due to her being a regular both at the museum and in my own personal life, we had a bit of a repertoire, and she had oh so sweetly demanded that I “bend her over this railing and fuck her like I meant it” and frankly, how was I supposed to say no to her. So I did, and not even five minutes later, I hear the jangle of keys and someone whistling the tune of boogie-woogie bugle boy, the shine of a flashlight illuminating Peggy and I. Peggy, always the conversationalist, even in the most embarrassing of situations gave a sweet wave and a “hello handsome!” to Bucky, who immediately turned bright red and very loudly told me to “Please stop what you're doing and go home if I was done with the tour” and then abruptly turned on his heel and sprinted into the darkness of the museum. Peggy and I had a good laugh at that, gathering ourselves and heading home, doing a walk of shame past a very disgruntled and bright red Bucky Barnes. I had tried apologizing the next day, but he apparently had forgotten the incident and me.

 

I was brought back to the present by an insistent press of lips and hands yanking at my tie. Tony had planted himself firmly in my lap and was currently working an impressive hickey into my neck. Fully coming back into the present, I slipped my left hand underneath his dress shirt, tweaking a nipple on my way up, the other hand gripping his hips as he ground down into my lap. “Did you- Jesus Christ- did you want me to fuck you?” I manage to ask this as he’s methodically rocking back and forth over my dick, licking and sucking at this spot behind my ear that’s making me lose all sense of time. “Uh fuck-Steve-oh fuck- yeah, yeah fuck me please” Tony moans into my ear as I move my hand from his hips to finally get a handful of his ass, ducking my head down to lick at his nipples through his thin shirt. He starts fumbling with my belt buckle, and I get the memo, undoing it myself and lifting us both up so I can slide them down underneath me as Tony does the same, except he yanks his underwear completely down with his pants, cock bobbing free as he settles back down. I take this opportunity to spin us on the bench, shoving him between my hulking frame and the wall, giving myself some leverage as well. I firmly wrap my fingers around his dick and he thrusts into my fist, chasing the tightness. “Do you have lube?” I hear him whisper, coming out more like a moan, “I prepped beforehand and it should be fine for you to- hhnnnngg fuck Steve-” he cuts himself off as I rub the pad of my index finger against his entrance, gently pushing and waiting for the tight muscle to give a bit, moaning into his neck as he grabs my own cock through my tight briefs. “This ok?? and yeah, yeah baby brought lube, it's in the front pocket” I manage to choke out a reply as he finally pulls my dick free, wrapping a hand around, and then leaning down between our bodies to lap at the head. “Jesus fuck Tony that's so good baby fuck” I moan as he takes more of my length into his hot mouth, tonguing circles into the shaft as he works. He pulls off shortly after, a string of saliva running from his red lips to the shiny head of my cock. I groan outright at the sight, the finger pressed against his hole finally sliding in, gently rocking back and forth. He sits back, arching against the wall, head thrown back to expose the column of his throat. I finally grab the mini bottle of lube I bought, as well as a condom. “Steve, I just want you to know-” I immediately pull my finger free and sit back, waiting for his next breath, what he wants to say. Tony's head snaps down from where it was pressed against the wall, eyes flying open as he glares at me. “Why'd you stop” he asks, warily, giving me a chance to call the whole thing off. “You said “Steve, I want you to know” and then cut yourself off. I wanna know what you need me to know, and I wanted to make sure you were ok” I reply, removing my hands from his waist, putting some space between us without completely killing the mood, trying to exude calm. Tony giggles, honest to God giggles, grabbing the condom from my palm and ripping the package open with his teeth, spitting the foil from his mouth off somewhere into the dark. he leans forward, lips almost touching mine, and says “Yea I was just gonna tell you that you have a very large, very all-around impressive, dick, and that I was thrilled and honored to get fucked by it.” “Oh.” “And now if you would be so inclined- he dangles the condom around in front of me teasingly, “I'd love to finish what we started. If you're still wanting that.” I lean forward, pressing our mouths together in a gentle kiss, that very quickly turns into Tony biting my lip and whimpering, wiggling around impatiently in my lap. “Yeah Tones, been wanting to fuck you since I saw you this morning, god, I couldn't take my eyes off you in that fucking coat. you looked so good.” and Jesus- I choke on my words as Tony rolls the condom on, reaching back behind himself as he does, slipping two fingers into his ass and rocking back, leaning against the wall and putting on a show. “Ye,s Steve? You were about to wax poetic about my ass I hope” he snarks, adding a third finger and biting down on my earlobe as he went. “Mm I watched you walk in, your hips swaying,” I kiss his neck as I palm his ass for affect, “your slacks were practically painted on you, I kept thinking about how you’d look all spread out for me, kept thinking about how you moan for me while I ate you out doll, Jesus, wanted to hear you scream my name.” Tony visibly jerks at the comment, dick twitching as he slowly pumps three fingers in and out of himself, kissing me fierce as he slathers up my cock with what’s left of the lube. “Alright Steve time to put your money where you mouth is”, Tony grins, sinking down slowly into my lap, adjusting as he goes. We both groan, Tony bracing himself with one arm against the wall and the other wrapped around my neck. I’m fighting the urge to thrust into his tight heat, the feeling overwhelming. After we both catch our breath, Tony experimentally rocks forward, lifting and dropping himself not even more than an inch.”Steve? I momentarily unattach my mouth from his throat, where I’ve been working an impressive hickey, mouth parting, “you can move now, please.” he whispers, and that's really all the permission I need. Holding his hips, I pull out and shove back in, a long slide that can only be described as what heaven might feel like. I set a pace, leisurely grinding our hips together, tilting upwards slightly when I hit a spot that makes Tony gasp, concentrating on pressing into that spot, keeping myself inside of him, rubbing up against it. “Jesus, Steeeeveee oh god, that's it right there honey, yeah uh, mmm that’s it, can you-” I cut him off with a particularly well aimed thrust, “Steve can you go a little harder huh? C’mon baby make me feel it.” The look in his eyes severs whatever shred of togetherness I had, and throwing all caution to the wind I start snapping my hips, earning myself little punched out moans and groans as I deepen my thrusts. “Is that good, is that what you wanted? My big cock splitting you open, making you feel so fucking good baby, I wanna make you feel good Tony c’mon hun tell me how you want it” Tony cries out, clenching down around me in response, “Yeah harder Steve, make me feel it tomorrow, I wanna remember how good you made it for me, yeah baby that's it I'm close honey” I'm getting sloppy now, chasing the heat pooling low in my belly, the inevitable release. Tony's full-on whining, face shoved into my shoulder, mouthing at the sensitive skin there, hand thrown in my hair and the other clutching the bench for everything he's worth. “You look so fucking beautiful Tony,” I pant out, mouthing at his jaw, “Look so good on my cock baby, Jesus, you’re so tight” I moan, snapping my hips as hard as I can, chasing release. He moans, tugging my hair hard. “Fuck Steve, you’re filling me up so good right now, mmm fuck, yeah right there. I’m close Steve” “Come on Tony, come for me huh?” He comes with a shout, cock trapped between our bodies, cum shooting over his shirt and into my hand. “Tony, I'm close, do you want me to come inside ya doll? Ya gotta let me know baby I'm gonna come honey.” All fucked out and boneless, he leans forward and whispers into my mouth “C'mon Steve, fill me up huh? show a guy you care” with that I finish, little sparks blowing behind my eyes, that all-encompassing warmth enveloping me, pulling me under. we sit there for a moment, catching our breath, swapping gentle touches and kisses. finally, the spell wears off and we both begin to clean up. I pull some tissues from my pocket, wiping the mess off of his shirt and my hand, tucking myself back into my briefs and slacks.

 

“That was really good Steve!” Tony whisper-shouts, tucking his shirt in and doing the belt up. “You should join Pep and I sometime. She's a fan of dirty talk.” I blush, a full tomato red, and he chuckles, patting me on the arm as we walk towards the entrance. “Well thank,s Tones, I just might. Pepper seems like a real sweet gal.” “Oh, she's something alright,” Tony beams. “She sure does put up with me, that's for sure.” “Wel,l she sure got lucky, having to put up with a fella like you.” This time it's Tony's turn to blush, cheeks pinking as he grins at the floor. We reach the double doors signaling the museum entrance, and I pluck Tony's peacoat from the counter where we left it, draping it over his shoulders. We smile at each other like two teenagers at a prom, all awkward glances and lots of blushing. “Well, thank you for letting me show you more of the museum than I'm sure you thought you'd ever see.” I rock back and forth on my toes, suddenly dog tired and ready to curl up in my own bed. Tony smiles, leaning in for a quick kiss “That was the best museum tour I've ever had! “ He smirks up at me, pulling his coat tightly around his shoulders as he steps outside. “Have a good one Steve! See ya around!” “Text me that you're home safe!” I reply as he shakes his head good-naturedly. I watch him disappear into the dark, streetlights barely flickering. Locking the door, I head back into the empty museum, doing one last round and making sure everything was clean and in place. I pull my phone out to check the time, finding that it’s already 10:00, and that I have three missed calls and a voicemail from Nat. “ _Steve, heello, Mora and the boys and I are gonna crash in the loft above the bar tonight, heheh-ee Gamora stooooopp I’m leaving Steve a, yes Steve no Sam wait-_ ” the message cut off there, assumably from whatever Sam did. I shuffle into the employee break room, heading to the vending machine for a powerade. Bucky walks in as my back is to the door, but I can sense him, the pause of his boots on the linoleum flooring. I turn, fully expecting to be ignored. I greet him anyways, lifting the Powerade in my hand with a wave. “Hi James, how ya doin man” I offer, trying to come off as polite. He stares blankly in my direction, and offers a simple “You heading home?” as I begin to walk towards him. “Yeah, I’ve gotta be here again tomorrow” I reply, uncapping the powerade and talking a swig. He watches my adams apple bob as I swallow, eyes fixated on my lips. “Oh.” he replies, something akin to disappointment in those big blue eyes. “You’re here all night yeah?” “Mhm. Just until 4am, and then the next guy comes in. Todd or sumthin’.” I nod thoughtfully, internally cursing myself out for what I’m about to say next. “Erm, If ya want, I can uh- stay with ya? So yankow, you're not alone all night?” For all of his careful put togetherness, Bucky looks like I just punched his mom in the face and then kissed his sister. “It’s only a suggestion Bu- James. I wanted to offer but you don’t have to say yes.” I shake the powerade again in some sort of placating wave gesture. He just stands there, staring at my mouth as if he can’t believe the words came out of them. His hair is tucked back into a sloppy bun, tendrils falling gently over his sharp jaw, his lips delightfully red against his pale skin and sharp scruff. Finally, after a minute of pure silence, Bucky opens his mouth as if to speak, and then closes it again. “Uh. Uh sure. If you wanna stay you uh- you can.” “I do want to stay” “So stay then” He’s moved closer to me, sidling into my space with the sort of grace you can only attain by spending lots of time hiding and sneaking about. Probably ex-military, I muse, as he just stares up at me, meeting my eyes. I break the spell first, afraid I’ll do something stupid like kiss him if he keeps watching me like this. “Well, I- uh- I’m gonna go get us some coffee. How do you like yours?” He eyes me thoughtfully, as if to try and decide if it's some sort of prank. “Black with one packet of sugar. Please.” He adds the “Please” as if it's some sort of sacred favor I’ve offered to do for him. “Ok, black with one sugar for ya. I’ll uh- be right back with that.” “Just knock on the back door, I’ll wait in the office.” “Ok.” With that, I sidestepp him, and speed walk to the back exit, grabbing my coat and slipping out into the night.

 

Thankfully we live in New York, the city that never sleeps, and apparently neither do I. I give Natasha a quick call, praying that she doesn’t pick up in the middle of her adult escapades as she so often does. It goes straight to voicemail, and I leave her a quick message letting her know I’m gonna spend the night in the museum and that I’ll see her for breakfast at the diner we always frequent. I step into the bodega a block away, stamping the bits of snow and ice off of my shoes. I wave to John, the owner, a portly man of about 60. He’s ex-military as well, and we’ve shared war stories and anecdotes from our time overseas. He’s married, he and his husband have been together for 13 years next month. I come here a lot before my shifts, to grab a granola bar, or coffee and he always puts a smile on my face. “Heya Stevie!” he rumbles, hopping, well, sliding off of the stool he keeps behind the register, placing some sci-fi novel down and teetering over to make conversation as I grab two disposable cups for our coffee. He raises one shaggy eyebrow, wiggling it at me as he notices that there's two cups in my hand. “Hey John”, I reply, How’s your night goin? Ya been busy?” I carefully pour the coffee, making sure to leave room in mine for cream and sugar. “Nah, you know how it is these days, what with the fancy schmancy grocery stores popping up in the neighborhood. No one comes here all that often. Cept for my regulars.” He shrugs, grabbing me two lids and sleeves from the shelf next to me as I finish pouring sugar in James’s cup. “So, ya got a date or sumthin?” I turn bright red, grabbing the lids from him and slamming them maybe a bit too hard onto the cups. “No,” I mutter, “It’s for my co-worker at the museum. He's a night security guard.” John’s face lights up at this, a delightful little smirk working its way onto his weathered face. “Oh! Bucky! He’s a sweet kid, and cute too” he wiggles his eyebrows again, nudging me in the shoulder as we walk back to the register. “Yeah, that’d be him” I sigh, and then as I realize what he said, my eyes narrow, wheels spinning. “You called him Bucky” I begin, accusingly. “He doesn't let anyone call him Bucky, cept for friends. And due to the fact that he has a memory issue, he can’t make new friends.” At this John guwaffs, holding his belly and full blown cackling, slamming one big hand in the counter as he, for lack of better wording, laughs his ass off. “What?!” I snap, annoyed and confused. It's late and I’m about to buy coffee for this guy I have a hopeless crush on, and I’m wondering if that was a mistake. John wipes his eyes on the back of his hand and breathes deep and even, regaining his composure. “Oh I’m sorry Stevie, I wasn’t laughin at you.” “Then what the hell were you laughing at you fuckin hyena” He rings me up for the coffee, and I hand him a crumpled five and some change. “Bucky Barnes is an ex military sniper. The man did eight years in special forces. He can remember everything, he’s smart as a whip.” and, he continues, counting out my change and passing it to me, “He mentioned that he was gonna try a thing he saw in a movie out on one of his coworkers.” I groan, thumping my forehead against the counter. “Did he mention why?” “He said sumthin about this guy bein real cute but that he seemed ‘emotionally unavailable’ and that he didnt wanna get involved in that.” I perk up a little, turning my head so my cheek is now pressed against the counter pathetically. “He thinks I’m cute huh?” “Sure does kiddo. And maybe if ya stopped using the museum for your little escapades, he’d know that you're a big sap who is very emotionally available.” I nod, grabbing our coffees, a drink carrier, and some extra sugar packets just incase. “Well John, I’d be lying if I said this hadn’t been the most informative bodega run of my life.” He chuckles, picking his book back up and settling into his stool. “Give your boy some time,” he replies. “I’m sure he’ll come around.” “Sure thing, see ya later John. Say hey to Ed for me.” “Bye Stevie. Yannow ya gotta come by for dinner one of these days, Ed’s been dyin to cook ya a meal. He says you’re gettin thin.” “Uh huh. I’ll see ya tomorrow.” I push the door open with my shoulder, heading back towards the museum. Tramping my way through the half melted snow gives me time to clear my head, and to also look up what movies have a pineapple car accident in them. The one that comes up is called 50 First Dates, and it’s about a girl who gets into a tragic accident on her way to pick a birthday pineapple with her dad, and when she gets better she has lost the ability to convert short term memory to long term memory. She meets a guy and he basically spends every day meeting her over and over again. It seems like a cute flick, and I mentally tuck it away for the next time Nat makes us have family movie night.

 

I walk up the back steps and knock on the door, two raps. There's a scrabbling noise, and a very loud, “Clint shut the fuck up!! I think that's him!” and then the door is yanked open by a very flustered Bucky. He gives me a sheepish look, cheeks pink, as he stumbles around for an explanation. I raise an eyebrow, watching him stutter, “Did ya want me to come back later?” I offer as a joke, and he immediately turns even redder. “No-no no, It’s not like that, I was- that was, my roommate called me, erm, he couldn’t figure out how to turn the subtitles on for the TV and he’s deaf so- he, he- needs them.” I stamp my feet on the stairs, puffing out a warm breath into the freezing air. “Can I come back in? I ask, holding up the coffees. “It’s fucking freezing out here.” Bucky looks horrified, and then quickly scoots behind the door to hold it open for me. I walk in, placing our coffees down on the desk, and take my coat off. The door shuts but he’s still just standing there, like he's unsure of what to do next. I gingerly place the coffee holder down and reach for my cup. Bucky takes the other cup, fingers wrapping assuredly over the lid and gripping it tight. Hr pads over to the empty desk chair and sits down, posture impeccable. I take the seat next to him, stretching my legs out as far as possible, sinking down into the soft fabric. I sip my coffee, watching him out of my peripheral vision. He’s still sitting ramrod straight, as if someone shoved a pole down the back of his uniform. “So, James, I’ve been meaning to ask ya. I’ve recently tried to get into pop culture more and I was wondering if you've ever seen a movie called 50 First Dates?”


End file.
